Is Albert's the coolest new club to come to South Kensington?

All the fun is happening at Albert's, the new nightclub/supper club enticing scenesters down its Balmoral-tartan-clad staircase. By Tibbs Jenkins

24 Feb 2017

Friday 24 February 2017

Amanda Sheppard, Lord Edward Spencer-Churchill, Charlotte Dellal, The Bens (Goldsmith and Elliot): yet another bloody committee? But wait, dear reader - they're not trying to persuade you to attend a charity boxing night. No, this gang's cause is far more alluring: they've banded together in the name of Albert's, a stylish boîte that you'll find at 92b Old Brompton Road. An area that was known as Albertopolis in the 1850s, named to celebrate Prince Albert's role in Victorian life.

And it is after Queen Victoria's love (and not his penis piercing) that this Albert's is named. It's the latest creation of Jake Parkinson-Smith, Carlo Carello, Piers Adam and Fraser Carruthers - magical names that every ex-boarding-school kid will associate with long-ago nights of teen debauchery at their former HQs: Raffles, Mahiki and Boujis. Ah, Boujis... do you remember how we danced, how we followed Prince Harry into the loo? Boujis' doors are sadly shut now, and it's rumoured that it will be turned into a Five Guys. But what does that matter, when the doors to Albert's are open?

And they open early, fyi - at 6pm, in fact. Because this is not just a nightclub (they're dying a slow death across the country, as we all know). No, this is a members' club for the chic and mainly over-25s. This isn't somewhere simply to pitch up after pizza at Pucci's or a bowl of courgetti/carbonara at Cornelia's flat in Parson's Green (though you can, if you like, and are fortunate enough to be a member, for £500 a year). No, there is food to be had here. And it's v. good - none of this fancy foam nonsense, but instead trusty fare like steak tartare and veal Milanese, as well as fabulous drinks... You know, all the good things in life.

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Talking of which, you'll also find Celia Weinstock eating there with Oliver Holcroft; Sam Sangster hosting his b'day sups in the corner (probably discussing the racing syndicate he's set up with Albert's); and Archie Manners wondering where he's put his house keys after one too many at the whisky bar.

So far, you may think, so Chelsea crew - which is extremely sensible of Albert's, seeing that its location makes it the perfect rival to the members' clubs of Mayfair, its handy postcode meaning you can nip home beforehand, light a candle, have a bath, pet the dog, pat the children and still be ordering a seabass fillet with your godfather by 8.30pm. Happy days.

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But its appeal extends further - even up north! Rafferty Law, the Primrose Hill dweller, has nipped in; Jo Wood danced away with Fran Cutler at her Day of the Dead-themed bash at the club; and Arizona Muse was found taking selfies in the bathroom. In fact, the list of people taking selfies in the bathroom is almost never-ending: Lily Frieda, for instance, and Georgina Cohen - who captioned her Instagram of it, 'Thanks for bringing some cool back into the hood.' And so it has, with its bright Colefax and Fowler wallpaper, which feels a little Alice in Wonderland on ayahuasca, and its joyfully slimming mirrors (purposely done, btw).

But you don't want to hear about the loos. Not really. What you want to do is actually go there. You want to slink down the Balmoral- tartan-clad staircase and eat all the food. And then? Well, post-dinner, the lights go down, the music goes up, the tablecloths get whipped away, the ice buckets come out and ta-dah! - the restaurant is now a dancefloor. Yep, welcome to the Twist. OK, nightclubs per se may be doomed. But we've still got to dance, right?